ke you _see_--the hell of it. It began with
thinkin'--just with thinkin'--_that first night you led me home from
the breach_. And the things I saw and heard; and then, when I came
here, only meanin' to save _him_--'

He broke off and nodded at the child, who catching his eye, nodded
back smiling.

He and the corporal had evidently made great friends.

But the corporal's gaze, wavering past him, had fixed itself on a
trestle bed in the corner.

'There was a woman,' he said. 'She was stone cold; but the child
told me--until I stopped his mouth, and made a guess at the rest.
I took her down and buried her in the garden. And with that it came
over me that the whole of it--the whole business--was wrong, and that
to put myself right I must kill, and keep on killing. Of course I
knew what the end would be. But I never looked for such luck as
_your_ coming. . . . I was ashamed, first along, catching sight o'
you--not--not ashamed, only I didn't want you to see. But when you
took cover an' waited--though I wouldn't 'a hurt you for worlds--why
then I knew how the end would be.'

'Lad,' said the sergeant, watching him as he panted, 'I don't
understand you, except that you're desperate wrong. But I saw you--
saw you by the lookin'-glass, behind there; and 'tis right you should
know.'

'O' course you saw me. . . . I'm not blamin', am I? You had to do
it, and I had to take it. That was the easiest way. I couldn' do no
other, an' you couldn' do no other, that bein' your duty. An' the
child, there--'

Sergeant Wilkes turned for a moment to the child, who met his gaze,
round-eyed; then to his friend again.

But the corporal's head had dropped forward on his chest.

The sergeant touched his shoulder, to make sure; then, with one look
behind him, but ignoring the child, reeled out of the room and down
the stairs, as in a dream. In the sunny garden the fresh air revived
him and he paused to stare at a rose-bush, rampant, covered with
white blossoms against which the bees were humming. Their hum ran in
his head so that he failed to notice that the sound of musketry had
died down. An hour before it had been death to walk, as he did,
under the convent wall and out into the street leading to the lesser
breach. The convent had, in fact, surrendered, and its defenders
were even now withdrawing up the hill to the citadel. He found the
lesser breach and climbed down it to the shore of the Urumea, beside
the deserted f